Work Text:
Phoenix skips up to the reception desk of the top floor of the Prosecutor’s Office. Hannah, the face of the desk for the past god knows how many years, blinks expectantly up at him, zero surprise at seeing him here.
Phoenix grins. “Is my darling husband in?”
“Yes,” Hannah replies, her wariness already evident, and Phoenix grins harder.
“Perfect. Is he free for the next hour?”
“Yes, for an hour- he’s got a meeting after that, but-”
“Oh, he’s going to hate that-”
“Yes, well, Mr. Wright,” Hannah interrupts, with the tones of someone desperately attempting to give grave news before oncoming disaster, “I have to warn you- he’s been in a rather... disagreeable mood.”
Phoenix barks out a laugh, and Hannah’s eyebrows raise. “Oh, I know! That’s exactly why I’m here.”
Hannah only purses her lips at him, expression unreadable other than that, before jerking her head towards the direction of Miles’s door.
“I’ll buzz you in.”
Phoenix swears he hears a muttered ‘good luck’ under her breath as she reaches for the button, and vows to bully Miles into paying the poor woman more when he next can.
Which won’t be within the next hour, if he can help it.
“Wright, get out.” Miles says, as soon as Phoenix has appeared in the doorway.
“Hello to you too, sweetpea!” Phoenix calls out, loud enough for Hannah to hear and hopefully brave a laugh at, before he closes the door behind him.
He saunters his way into Miles’s office, towards the desk the man is hunched over. There’s only one case file and its underling papers out in front of him. Phoenix would be surprised at such a conservative amount for Miles’s usual standards, if he didn’t know exactly which one case file it is.
“And why yes,” he continues, “my day has been pretty swell so far, thank you for asking. You’re always so considerate. How was yours?”
“Get. Out.”
Phoenix hums, fake-thoughtful, and perches his butt on a mahogany edge. He looks at Miles sidelong. “D’you wanna know what I think?”
Miles glares right back. “Not particularly. All of your thoughts recently have been ridiculous and absurd and quite frankly, I haven’t cared for a single one.”
Phoenix ignores him. “I think that this case has just been keeping us apart.”
Miles snorts, not unlike a prize bull. “It’s been doing the opposite. We’ve been butting heads all the damned time. Now leave, before we start doing so again, for no good reason.”
“No,” Phoenix says, rolling his eyes. “I mean it’s been keeping us apart in...”
He pauses to look down and brush a piece of non-existent lint from his thigh. He looks back up again.
“...Other ways. Y’know?”
Miles is staring flatly at him. “No, I don’t.”
Phoenix huffs, absolutely not petulantly, and pushes off his perch to round the desk. Miles swivels in his chair, following his movement, as he talks. “C’mon, Miles, it’s not hard to get what I’m suggesting.”
“Well, clearly it is,” Miles says, ruffling already, “because I haven’t the foggiest what you’re referring to. So either spit it out, or get out, because I’m busy trying to work out the very thing that’s keeping us-”
Phoenix has time to roll his eyes during that tirade before cutting it short, saying, “Let me suck your dick.”
There’s a pause where Phoenix stands before an unblinking and dangerously impassive Miles.
“Pardon?” Miles seethes.
“We haven’t done anything remotely sexual together since this investigation has started. Hell, we’ve barely kissed each other- not properly, anyways.” Phoenix shrugs and looks plainly down at his husband. “I’m putting good money on that being a cause of at least some of the frustration between us. And it’s something we can deal with pretty immediately.”
Miles’s glare is downright thunderous now. “You think,” he hisses, voice low, “that instead of talking it out like adults, or even just attempting to actually solve the case together before it goes to trial- we should fuck it out instead?”
Phoenix feels his face instantly flush with heat. Miles did not usually speak like that unless he wanted to get a reaction, and he got a reaction, every single time. There’s a few beats of silence that pass between them, Phoenix suddenly thrown off of his course at Miles’s completely left-field, crash-collision response.
“Get down here,” Miles growls, grabs at the belt hiding under Phoenix’s waistcoat with expert precision, and pulls, hard, yanking him into his lap before Phoenix can even think to carry out his request.
“Jesus,” Phoenix utters through a faint laugh, throwing out instinctive hands onto both of Miles’s broad shoulders to stabilise himself. “I really wasn’t expecting you to be on board with this so quickly? Not that I’m complaining! This is...” He shifts in Miles’s lap, feeling the solid warmth of his husband’s thighs underneath him. He swallows hard. “Y-Yeah.”
Miles is already pushing off his jacket, and Phoenix’s hands jump to the back of his cravat to catch up. “I’ve been thinking about it myself over the past few days,” he says. “Especially so anytime you got particularly onerous and-or debilitatingly annoying. Which was often."
For those same past few days, and for his own part, Phoenix has been spending every waking moment around his husband imagining the various things they could do to each other to finally shut the other one up. He’d then go to sleep curled up into an obstinate and impenetrable ball of limbs with his back to his obstinate and intolerable husband, hard and wanting, only to wake up much the same. This cycle would then repeat.
To think that he could have already had his relief from this, had Miles communicated at all that he was suffering from the same thing, is fucking anguishing.
Appropriately conveying all of that:
“Why didn’t you say anything?!” Phoenix cries.
“Why didn’t you?” Miles says, volleying it right back.
“I did! Literally two minutes ago!”
Miles hmphs. “Took you long enough.”
They both stare each other down for a passing moment, jacket half off and cravat much the same.
Phoenix could argue back. They’ve been doing so all week over the case, because normally, no matter how much of a stumper it is they’re dealing with, them arguing it out together never fails to eventually get them on some line of logic that leads to the case’s answer. It’s a push-pull between them both: Phoenix pushes an idea to the most ridiculous of places, and Miles pulls it onto a track that makes sense.
This current case has been that, but never-fucking-ending. Miles hasn’t liked any idea Phoenix has thrown out to him, and Phoenix hasn’t liked any of Miles’s criticisms for his ideas, and so, there’s been a stalemate of the most hair-pulling kind- and not in the sexy way- with no final answer in sight.
That’s why although Phoenix could argue back- he doesn’t.
“Ugh. Whatever,” he mutters instead, and pulls at Miles’s cravat. It loosens fully off, and the momentum that tugs Miles’s head slightly forward with it allows Phoenix to easily catch his husband’s mouth with his own.
And it’s instantly obvious they’ve both missed this. Phoenix’s hands fly up to cradle either side of Miles’s face, pulling him further into the kiss, and Miles’s own hands give up on Phoenix’s jacket to clamp down on his ass instead, settling him steadier in his lap. With this extra stability, Phoenix braves lifting up his hips and bearing back down, grinding, and Miles groans around their tongues. Naturally, Phoenix makes a rhythm of it.
“God, we haven’t done this in so long,” Phoenix gasps when he briefly pulls away, in what was supposed to be him being quiet and getting some breath back. His hands drop down to Miles’s shirt buttons, deciding that them being done up all the way to the neck left far too much of his pale skin covered.
“What, make out in my office like a pair of horny teenagers?” Miles says. His head tilts to the side, angling round Phoenix’s busied hands, and Phoenix realises it’s so he can keep his eyes trained down on Phoenix’s still-grinding hips with a determination he’s recently been using only on the reams of case-related papers they’ve both been agonising over. Phoenix deems it a much better preoccupation, and makes the next drag of his hips against Miles’s crotch a particularly long one. He grins when hears Miles suck in a breath and more-so when he feels Miles’s hands tighten their already vice-tight grip on his ass.
“You never knew me as a horny teenager.” he says, now satisfied enough to return to Miles’s question.
Miles smirks despite himself. “Seems like I didn’t have to.”
Phoenix hums. “Maybe you just keep me young,” he murmurs, and Miles rolls his eyes, fond.
With an appropriate amount of Miles’s neck and chest now exposed, Phoenix finally shucks his own jacket off from where it was bunched around his elbows.
It would have fallen to the floor- had Miles not stuck out a leg to catch it with his shin.
“Oh, for-”
“Pick it up.”
“Miles-”
“Quickly. My leg isn’t this strong, Phoenix.”
“Bossy,” Phoenix grumbles, but he reaches back to pluck the jacket up from Miles’s quivering leg regardless.
“It’s-” Miles starts, managing to imbue an impressive amount of disdain into a single syllable.
“Merino wool?” Phoenix finishes for him, dropping the jacket on top of Miles’s cravat and paperwork as haphazardly as possible. “Bespoke? Finely-tailored by the best Japanifornia has to offer?”
“I was going to say three thousand dollars too expensive to be used to sweep the floor, actually.” Miles says, eyeing Phoenix’s efforts on the clothing-paperwork amalgam with the brand of disgust he usually reserves for when Pess’s muddied paws meet floor.
“Any of my three do the same in less words.” Phoenix says.
Miles smiles at him, and is untucking his tie from his waistcoat, wrapping it around a fist, as he replies. “And yet, you’re still talking too much. Come back here.”
Phoenix can’t really object to that. Especially not after the sharp tug Miles gives his tie and the tiny huff of a laugh Miles gives the start of their renewed kiss, both of these things sending his hips moving again, a shade more enthusiastic than before. And Miles seems to be much the same- Phoenix can feel him getting harder under him, and as much as he likes rutting in his husband’s lap like this, lazy and unhurried and just enjoying the feel of each other, he does want to cash in on his earlier proposal.
He starts with the belt and clasp of Miles’s suit pants. He’s never managed this manoeuvre smoothly- not helped by the ridiculous number of unnecessary buttons and hidden loops Miles’s pants have, a vestige of his need to always be in his stuffy Victorian character- but it’s something Miles at least has developed a patience for, because while Phoenix fiddles, his arms around Phoenix’s back go from loose to secure and he reroutes his wandering lips to a less distracting spot on Phoenix’s neck.
“I’d literally never pee if I wore these things. Too much effort,” Phoenix mutters, as he finally undoes the last button that was in the way of the final hurdle, a blissfully simple zipper.
“You just have fine motor skills akin to that of a small child.”
“No, you just like to make things unnecessarily hard for yourself. Speaking of which-”
Miles groans, soft and restrained, as Phoenix’s fingers slide their way in the space between suit pants and silk briefs and squeeze around his cock. “It really has been too long,” he mutters.
Phoenix grins and squeezes harder. “Aren’t you glad I finally said something?”
“I was going to,” Miles says, head flopping against the backrest of his chair as his hips attempt to jerk into Phoenix’s hand but fail to because of the lapful of Phoenix he’s currently burdened with. “Last night, actually.”
Phoenix’s own hips shift unthinkingly, seeking friction where there was little. When Miles talks like this during sex, Phoenix’s dick listens, whether the position is conducive or not.
“Oh, yeah?” he prompts, voice breaking off a little at the end.
Miles nods. “When you proposed that the victim had orchestrated the entire thing by themselves, simply because we haven't yet found any physical evidence of a secondary party at the scene. As if the murder was carried out via a- ah!- a Rube Goldberg machine. In-insanity,” he says around a breathless chuckle that lilts into a gasp, Phoenix’s hand moving more insistently as he continues to talk. “Utter insanity. And you were so facetious for suggesting it- so clearly not taking me seriously, that I rather wanted to- god- to shove your discarded tie in your mouth, and- take you right there and then- on the dining table-”
Phoenix groans, hand stuttering. “Fuck, Miles, why didn’t you?”
Miles shakes his head desperately, looking back down at the hand shoved down his pants, brow furrowed. “I don’t- I don’t know, I- Phoenix-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know- help me off, will you? And pull your pants down enough for me to- yeah, that’s it- that’s it, god I can’t fucking wait to-”
A flurry of clumsy movement, one where all the bad luck they’ve been experiencing with their investigation this week seemingly and blessedly looks the other way, because Phoenix only stumbles once in his clambering off and Miles’s chair only slides backwards an inch while he lifts his hips enough to free his dick. And then Phoenix is kneeling almost reverently between his husband’s splayed thighs for the first time in god knows how long (a mere week), with Miles looking down at him, and Phoenix’s hands grip tight to Miles’s hip bones while his mouth opens wide and takes as much of Miles’s length as he can in one desperate go.
Miles is hot and firm in his mouth. Phoenix breathes hard through his nose, letting him get just that little bit further down, and Miles moans loud enough for Phoenix to briefly question just how soundproof his office really is.
Phoenix is open-mouthed grinning when he comes back up, Miles’s dick sat on the broad pad of his tongue.
“Don’t you dare say something smartarse,” Miles hisses, a hand coming to rest in Phoenix’s hair.
And Phoenix would, but he thinks he can do one better. He wraps his lips around Miles’s head once more, only to hold it there, firmly tonguing it. He keeps eye contact all the while. Miles tries his best to match him, but when Phoenix catches his frenulum rather deliberately, he throws that towel in with eyelids that flutter closed, another low moan being pulled from him with it.
Phoenix can focus a little more then. He brings a hand down to wrap around the base of Miles’s shaft and gets a tried and trusted rhythm going- tongue dragging, head bobbing, and hand twisting. It doesn’t take long for Miles’s breaths to become more like pants, soft and short, occasionally cresting to a stifled groan whenever Phoenix broke the pattern in one way or another to keep him on his toes.
“Phoenix- slow down,” Miles gasps.
Phoenix flicks his eyes up to see Miles with his face flushed, brow creased, and his bottom lip bitten between teeth. He looks unbearably disheveled, and more importantly, extremely fucking handsome. Phoenix’s hand that had been absently stroking up and down Miles’s thigh in time with his mouth on Miles’s cock instinctively tightens around the muscle underneath it.
“Fuck, you look good right now,” he mutters, after releasing the dick from his mouth with a needless pop, and Miles makes an adorable huffing noise.
“I said slow down, not stop.” he complains.
“Relax. My jaw was beginning to hurt anyways,” Phoenix replies, and keeps his hand going in lazy jerks. Just enough to keep Miles there, but not enough to push him any further over the edge.
He takes a moment to take in Miles in this little interlude, properly, with eyes dragging up from strong thighs to pale chest. When he reaches his face, Miles is looking back at him. The hand in his hair slides down to the side of his face, and a thumb starts gently stroking his temple.
Being at each other’s throats over a case was fun. They were good at that, it felt like them, and it was what Phoenix was used to. But it’s moments like this, he thinks- quiet ones, where the tenderness of it floats between them and their shared gaze and touching hands like particles of dust in a ray of bright sun- that really win out. That really feel like home.
...Even during a premeditated blowjob in Miles’s office, with his knees starting to go numb from the hardwood floor. There’s many a flavour of domesticity, Phoenix reasons.
“You sap,” Miles mutters, a little breathlessly, around a smile.
Phoenix grins. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
Miles’s smile grows gooey. “Mmm. I could just tell.”
And Phoenix just laughs his admission, moving back in so his breath ghosts Miles’s shaft, teasing. Miles shifts minutely under him. Phoenix licks up from base to tip, long and slow, and Miles releases a shaky breath, hand tightening its hold around the side of Phoenix’s head, fingers curling into scalp.
Phoenix closes his mouth around the head and resumes what he’d been doing before his jaw wussed out with a renewed enthusiasm. And the intermission seems to have done them both some good- Miles is already moaning quietly again, hips stuttering in time with Phoenix’s movement, which only sets Phoenix going more.
This time, Miles doesn’t stop him when he’s getting close.
“Phoenix,” he gasps instead; an encouragement. The hand not in Phoenix’s hair flexes and unflexes at his thigh, bunching the fabric of his suit pants, and Miles is only so careless with his clothes when his brain is on the brink of being washed out with something bigger and much better than the mere worry over creases.
Phoenix flattens his tongue, hollows his cheeks, and speeds up. He wants to draw out every noise he can from Miles, every last bit of tension their stupid investigation has wound up into a tight coil in Miles’s chest.
“Phoenix,” again, but raspier, more desperate, and Phoenix hums low from his throat, “I’m- fuck-”
And just as Phoenix moans around Miles’s dick, Miles is coming hot and fast into his mouth, fingernails digging crescents into his scalp. Phoenix holds himself in place to let Miles ride out his orgasm how he wants- he’s fickle when it comes to what’s too much and what’s not enough, and Phoenix had learned very early on in their relationship to just sit pretty while Miles takes control- while he swallows in steady intervals, tasting Miles for the first time in what he considers, at least, to be far too long.
Miles eventually attempts to shuffle back, and Phoenix pulls off, gently dragging his tongue in a belated attempt to lick Miles clean. While Miles catches his breath, Phoenix falls back from his haunches, watching his sated husband with a lazy grin.
“You look like the cat who got the cream,” Miles huffs, after looking down at him.
Phoenix quirks a brow. “...The cream?”
Miles makes a face. “Poor phrasing on my part.” he mutters, and lifts his hips from his chair to pull his pants back up.
Phoenix watches him stand fully, then. He offers a hand down.
“Get up, Wright.” he says, when Phoenix doesn’t take it.
“Oh, so I’m ‘Wright’ again?” Phoenix jokes, and when Miles rolls his eyes and stoops down to manually yank him up, he continues, half-laughing, “Okay, okay, but- I’m not sure how well my legs work right n- shitfuckpinsandneedles- pinsandneedles-!”
He throws two distressed hands out to catch Miles’s unsuspecting shoulders, and the owner of which lets out a surprised oof noise as they both stumble both back a pace.
“Ow, holy fuck- this is the worst I’ve ever had them-!” Phoenix wails, looking down at his traitorous legs that are currently thrumming with the force of a thousand- well, a thousand pins and needles.
The shoulders he’s grasping onto for dear life begin to shake. Phoenix looks up just as the first laugh rumbles out of Miles’s mouth. And if his legs are traitors, this is treason.
“Don’t- don’t laugh, you asshole! I got these from sucking your dick!”
Miles continues laughing. “Stamp your feet to get rid of them,” he does, however, offer.
Phoenix does so and immediately feels even more ridiculous. “I look like a seagull,” he complains miserably.
“A seagull?”
“Yeah, Apollo told me about them once. They stamp their little feet to imitate rain. To make worms come up to the surface. So they can eat them.” he explains, still miserable.
“Mr. Justice-?” Miles goes to question, before shaking his head. “Well, is it working, at least?”
Phoenix stops. His legs no longer feel like traitors; more like mild disappointments. “Oh. Yeah, it has.”
Miles nods brusquely. “In that case,” he says, and then pushes at Phoenix’s shoulders, forcing him to walk backwards, until his ass hits desk and he collapses onto it.
Phoenix doesn’t even have time to make any form of snarky comment before Miles is on his belt buckle, and then his pant clasp, and then his zipper, deft hands moving with much more competency than Phoenix’s ever have, and then any noise from him is replaced with a loud, drawn-out moan as Miles’s hand slips in and begins palming him through his boxers.
“God, yes,” Phoenix utters, embarrassment forgotten about as his arms fly up to circle Miles’s neck, face chasing them into its crook. “I love you so much-”
”I love you too,” he hears, and moreover, feels Miles return, and he moans again, into Miles’s skin.
And he’s already fully hard. He’d been so for pretty much the entire time he’d been working Miles, and to finally get some friction right where he’s been needing it is dizzying. And then he adds on the fact that this is the first time his husband has touched him like this in a week, and he’s bucking up into that hand and roughly angling their mouths together into a kiss.
It’s sloppy. Phoenix has never been able to work his best on Miles’s mouth when the man had a hand doing what it was currently doing, but Miles, as precise as he usually was, never seemed to mind the melting pot of saliva and grunts and tongue that these kisses became when they were this far into a tryst. Phoenix, meanwhile, more than tolerates them. He actually likes the way their tongues run against each other without direction or care, and the way their noises reverberate together and crawl down his throat.
Miles pulls away, leaving Phoenix gasping into his cheek. “I don’t suppose you have any lube on you?” he asks, while a thumb drags insistently down Phoenix’s length, the resulting feeling being mostly frustration, thanks to the barrier of cotton being in the way of pure pleasure.
And Phoenix does not. He’d thought long enough about his plan to have come up with an opening line, but not to have remembered to slip a bottle of lube into his pocket. In his defense, his plan had always been Miles-focused, which from his end, had involved saliva, and lots of it.
Miles takes the silence- or, the lack of words punctuating Phoenix’s ragged breaths, because Miles is still stroking him through his boxers- as an answer, and tuts. “Typical. You’re lucky I keep hand cream. Get yourself sorted while I fetch it.”
Phoenix toes the floor with his oxfords to do so, sighing happily over the sound of Miles’s drawer rummaging as his overheated dick meets the cooler, well-ventilated air of the office. The wood of the desk is cooler still against the bare strip of his ass cheeks when he sits back down. He spreads his thighs wide for Miles to slot back into.
Miles makes a low hum of approval as he moves into that space, warming the lotion in his hands. Phoenix can’t help the way his legs part a little more at the sound, nor the way he leans back on his hands, stretching out for Miles’s roving gaze.
Miles smirks and raises a knowing eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. Instead he just wraps a hand around Phoenix and begins the firm strokes Phoenix has missed so much. The quick, clumsy jerks he’d been giving himself in his already-rushed morning showers the past few days just haven’t managed to compare, and he goes to say as much to Miles:
“God, I’m in love with your hands. Mine have sucked recently,” is what leaves his mouth instead.
Miles laughs, a rumbling noise Phoenix closes his eyes to. “Poor you,” he purrs, squeezing hard on the way up, “your own betraying you like that,” tugging hard on the way down.
Phoenix doesn’t have the presence of mind for a comeback. He doesn’t have the presence of mind for anything except the sitting back and taking of Miles’s relentless strokes- strokes that knew Phoenix was beyond the usual teasing Miles liked to partake in- while he moans a vague, broken string of ‘yes, yeah, fuck, Miles,’ and then the same thing but rehashed, repeating it over and over.
“Good, Phoenix, good. Look at me,” Miles murmurs after particularly loud turn from Phoenix, and Phoenix cracks open an obedient eye. “That’s it. That’s it,” Miles continues, holding his gaze, as a thumb plays with Phoenix’s sensitive head. A quick, sharp jolt of sensation bites through the fog in Phoenix’s brain.
“Hah, fuck- Ah! Ah-”
Miles grabs Phoenix’s tie once more and pulls him upright and in towards him, letting him dip his head down to nip at Phoenix’s neck. He returns back to strong fingers around Phoenix’s length, and it tips Phoenix out onto that final building, distinct crescendo.
“Miles, I’m getting close, I’m gonna- wait-”
Clarity pops its head round the door to his pleasure-wrecked brain for a brief second to inform him that they’re both in their suits, in the middle of a work day.
“Where am I gonna-?”
Miles’s hand frustratingly but necessarily slows, and Phoenix groans with impatience as Miles casts a quick glance around the desk. He turns back to Phoenix.
“In my mouth, I suppose.” he says, in the logistical tones of someone deciding on a car parking space. And for some reason, Miles’s pragmatism towards sex always does it for Phoenix:
“Fuck.” he hisses. “Fuck, okay- you better get down there then, because I really dont think that- I’m gonna last much longer-”
But Miles is already spreading his legs wider open, pushing him further back onto the desk and onto his elbows- papers for The Case go fluttering to the floor, he vaguely realises, but it’s quite frankly inconsequential right now- and bending forward with a parting mouth over where his hand was pumping hard and fast.
It’s this sight of Miles, lurching hungrily over him like this, that finally does it.
Warmth hits the ceiling of his skull before crashing down into the base of his spine, and an urgent “Miles-!” rips from his mouth, signalling the start of his release. Miles closes around him in time to catch the start.
It’s all wet heat he feels as his hips roll with his orgasm, gasping with each wave of it. Miles keeps that same sensation steadily puttering out even after he pulls off, by pressing sticky kisses to the bare skin above Phoenix’s shoved-down waistband. Phoenix watches him do so, catching his breath back, and feeling a trill of fondness high in his chest.
“C’mere,” he says as soon as he physically can, pushing himself off his elbows. Miles stands upright, arms reflexively snaking up onto Phoenix’s shoulders, meeting him halfway as Phoenix cups his cheeks and pulls him into a languid kiss. Miles tastes like him, and Phoenix probably still has Miles’s taste on his own tongue, too.
They break apart, not even by an inch, and Miles sighs his content against Phoenix’s lips.
“So... do you still wanna kill me?” Phoenix whispers, ruining the moment.
Miles laughs, an unexpected snort of air. “That remains to be seen, whenever we next discuss that shared headache of ours.” he whispers back.
“Meh. Angels on the head of a pin, I reckon.”
“It won’t be when it finally goes to court. Trust me.” Miles says, voice far too bureaucratic for someone practically talking into Phoenix’s mouth. “No case causes this much of a stink in its investigation phase, without then thoroughly choking out the courtroom.”
“Mmm. Ominous, and a little disgusting of you, babe.” Phoenix mutters, and cuts off Miles’s resulting eye roll with a short and sweet peck to the lips.
“Right. Lunch?" Phoenix says, gently pushing Miles away and hopping off the desk, grabbing his jacket and Miles’s cravat just before his descent. "Hannah said you had a meeting in an hour, I think it was, which means we have time to nip to that place on the corner...”
Miles flicks his wrist to check his watch, taking his cravat from Phoenix with the other hand. “We’ll have to be quick, but-”
“What’s this?”
Miles huffs at being interrupted. “What’s what?”
“This-” Phoenix repeats, grabbing a paper from the desk he swears he hasn’t seen before, despite otherwise thinking pretty much every word to do with this case had been branded into the flesh of his frontal lobe after the last week he’s had. He’d been about to do up his pants when he’d spotted it, and naturally became distracted.
Miles takes it from him, his grey eyes beginning to scan the words and pictures there. “That’s- oh. I’m not actually sure... Where did you find it?”
“Literally on your desk. It was under my jacket, with the other papers.” Phoenix casts a doubtful eye back to the desk. “Did we?... Miles, did we miss an entire page of evidence?”
Miles shakes his head. “No. There’s no way we did. We’re not amateurs, Wright, there’s no way... we...” His face falls the more he reads down the page. “Oh my god, we did.”
There’s a pause.
“Well.” Phoenix says, into the silence that was probably Miles muffling a scream. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.” It doesn’t even get him a half-laugh, Miles being already back to work mode.
“I wonder if any of your ridiculous theories would make sense now...” he mutters.
Phoenix rolls his eyes. “Gee, I wonder-”
Miles suddenly shoves his phone in Phoenix’s hands, not taking his eyes off the paper. “Get Postmates up. We’re ordering our quick lunch in.”
If someone was to have told Phoenix at the start of his career that he’d reach a point where spending his lunch break poring over an evidence list would have him excited, rookie-him would’ve laughed in their face, before becoming genuinely concerned for the state of his future. But, here he was. Excited to spend his lunch break poring over an evidence list. He blames Miles’s conscientious, insidious influence, the bastard.
His insidiously conscientious bastard, though.
Phoenix grins. “Usual place, yeah?”
“Yes. And for heaven’s sake, do your pants up.”